Them
by A.Pink.Pen
Summary: You spot what looks like her in a coffee shop. You read a book that sounds like his words. But is it really them, or is it your imagination? - Three-Shot
1. Her

**A/N: I just realized it's been exactly three years to this day since I posted my first Pretty Little Liars fanfic. It's been a while since I've written, please forgive me, I'm quite rusty, but I wanted to give writing another shot. ****This is set in the future, post season five, episode one. I'm sorry if it spoils anything!  
I wrote this on a whim in less than an hour. It's something different, something I'm not used to, but hopefully you all like it.  
- J**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

* * *

_Ding!_

The door to the coffee shop swiftly swings open and shuts, the reverberations emanating from the bell hanging over the door breaking your trance. You sneak a glance up, the first time you've looked away from your laptop in the last three hours, and you feel your breath hitch. Your fingers freeze over your keyboard as you see her.

_Her_. You haven't seen _her_ in years, not since what happened in New York City, but that's not to say she hasn't been on your mind nearly every day since then.

You unabashedly stare at the woman who has just entered, studying her every movement. You follow her hand as she reaches under the strap of her bag, hitching it higher up her shoulder, then reaching in to pull out her wallet. You hear the _click clack_ of the heels of her boots hitting the tiled floor, quickly making her way to the open register. You can almost smell the familiar vanilla scent of her shampoo as she throws her head back, her brown, softly curled hair swishing behind her, laughing at something the barista has just said. You smile to yourself, she's back.

Your mind races, thinking of ways to "accidentally" run into _her_. You could pretend to throw away your trash, there's a trash can conveniently next to _her_, but you don't actually have any trash to throw away. You could pretend you need more sugar for your coffee, never mind that you usually drink your coffee black, but the sugar is nowhere near _her_, it's actually closer to you. You could just wait until she passes by, and look up at the exact moment she passes by. But what if she never comes this way?

You stand up, convincing yourself that you need to take action and make a move before it's too late. All you have to do is walk over to the register and order another drink. No matter that the cup of coffee right next to your laptop is still fresh, and full- it's your only chance. You hear the bell _ding_ once more, signaling the entrance of someone else. You see _her_ raise her hand and call the stranger over, and you immediately lower yourself back into your seat.

You watch as the strange man makes his way to _her_, and she loops her arm through his as he leans down and gives her a kiss on the top of her head. She leans into him, and even from behind, you can see _her_ grinning from ear to ear. You lost your chance.

You brace yourself. No, it's not over. You determinedly stand up once more and make your way to the register, pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You walk quickly, as _her_ and the mystery man are beginning to leave. She's looking down, and you take it as your chance to slowly take one step to your right, just bumping into _her_.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she apologizes profusely, looking up at you, flashing you a bright, wide smile. You notice the guy with her tightens his grip on her shoulders ever just a little bit tighter. You return her smile full of hope, glad your plan worked.

But then you study the girl standing in front of you, and your face falls a little. This girl isn't _her_. Not even close. This girl's smile is nowhere near as captivating as _hers_. This girl's eyes aren't as expressive as _hers_. This girl's hair isn't nearly as beautiful as _hers_. This girl just isn't _her. _

You mumble an apology as the guy she's with glares at you, leading her away. You watch as she wraps her arm around his waist, drawing him in closer, desperately wishing it was you and _her_ instead of that girl and that guy. Without much of a choice, you walk up to the barista at the register and order a croissant. At least you don't have to get another coffee.

Croissant in hand, you made your way back to your table, dropping your wallet onto your laptop and slumping down in your seat, feeling dejected. Picking up your wallet again, you fish through it, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

Unfolding the note, you can't help but notice just how weathered it's beginning to look, years spent being folded and unfolded, read over and over again. Your eyes drift over the small piece of paper, her flowing writing filling the page.

_Ezra,  
__I can't do this anymore. I don't know if I can trust you. I have to leave.  
__I just needed to make sure that you would survive this, that you would pull through, and now I that I know you will, I think it's time I go.  
__Please, don't try looking for me. I don't think either one of us can handle it.  
__Forgive me.  
__- Aria_

You remember the feeling after waking up from the surgery that removed the bullet from your lower abdomen. You're in a cold, empty room, the only sound you can hear is the beeping from the machine monitoring your heartbeat. You weakly call her name, but she's nowhere to be found. There's no one. Your eyes drift over to the bedside table, where you see a note with your name on it. Despite the pain, you reach over and pick it up, reading it repeatedly for hours, not quite understanding what the words she wrote meant. It couldn't be true, she couldn't be gone.

You shake your head, returning back to the present. Carefully, you fold the paper back up and tuck it back into its safe place in your wallet, the only thing you really have left of _her_. Sighing, you shove it back into your back pocket and, taking a sip of your now cold coffee, you begin to type again.

Maybe one day, you'll find _her_. You hope you'll find _her. _Until then, you finish working on your novel, hoping that the words you're typing right at this moment will find their way to _her_. Hopeful that one day, these words will being _her_ back to you.


	2. Him

**A/N: These ideas just won't get out of my head. So, I've turned this into a three-shot. Also, if you're confused, this story was originally called _Her_. Why I changed the title will make sense eventually.  
Enjoy, and please review!  
- J**

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing but these words and the ideas.**

* * *

_Uff_. You plop down on the park bench tiredly, with about as much grace as a giraffe attempting to rollerskate on ice. And you bet your legs feel just as wobbly as that giraffe's does. You roll up the sleeves on your black Lululemon Forte jacket and apply light pressure to the pulse point on your wrist, beginning to count as the second hand of your watch reaches the 12 at the top of the dial.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. _The beats come in rapid succession, not surprising as you've just run five miles in just over half an hour- a new personal record. You never pegged yourself as a girl who liked to exercise, but after moving to New York and realizing that the beauty of Central Park was only a few minutes away from your dorm room at Columbia University, running didn't seem so much as a chore, rather, it was as a way for you to have momentary peace and clarity. It was one of the reasons why you decided to stay at Columbia for another three years to obtain your masters degree in English Education. Following that dream of becoming a teacher, you were.  
_  
Ninety-nine. One hundred. One hundred one. One hundred two. One hundred three. _Finally the second hand completes its rotation back to the 12 at the top of the dial, and you let go of your wrist, slumping lower into your seat and leaning your head back. You take a deep breath and inhale the crisp, cool New York air and instantly feel at ease. The stress of trying to choose a topic for your thesis falls away, and you're able to finally relax.  
_  
He would've loved it here_. You head snaps up so fast that you swear you might've gotten whiplash. Your eyebrows furrow, wondering why, after all this time, _he_ managed to pop into your mind.

It wasn't as if you hadn't thought of _him_ after you left him at that hospital, actually, you thought of _him_ nearly every day for the better of those first two years that followed. Although you wouldn't admit it, it was one of the reasons why you decided to go to Columbia in the first place.

After you left _him_ in New York and went back to Rosewood with Hanna, Spencer, Emily and Alison, you always thought about _him_. Where he was, how he was doing, who he was with- there were times when your mind couldn't even process your thoughts fast enough. You casually tried to slip _him_ into your conversations, subtly trying to gather any information you could about his well-being from those around you.

From what you managed to learn from people, after being released from the hospital, he had unwillingly relented to living with his parents in their upstate New York mansion to recuperate. Once he finally became stronger, he filed for a transfer from Rosewood High School to one of the prestigious private prep schools near his parents' home and began to teach English Literature there. Aside from that, no one had actually heard anything else from him, save for an email to every Rosewood High School student, faculty and staff member thanking them for their concerns and ensuring them that, yes, he was doing well and healing. And that's where you stopped. You knew it wouldn't do _him_, or you for that matter, any good if you continued to try to search for _him_.

Besides, at the time, you still didn't know whether you would be able to trust _him_. After learning of his betrayal, you found it hard to trust not just _him_, but anyone. But slowly, day by day, as the years passed, you realized that everything he did wasn't to hurt you, it was to help you. To protect you, because he loved you. And it was with that that you slowly began the process of forgiving _him_. And yet, it was also with that that you started the process of trying to forget _him_.

You start letting your mind wander, thinking about how he really would have loved being there with you. How _you_ would've loved having _him_ there with you, jogging side by side, bantering easily about the latest book he had forced you to read, the symbolism and messages in between the lines you always failed to catch. He always was a better reader than you were, and you used to often tease _him_ that it was due to _him_ having years more experience than you.

You two would then make your way to a coffee shop where, over black coffee, you'd discuss your plans for that night. You would suggest your usual routine of Chinese takeout, his comfy sofa, you snuggling into him while wearing his old yellow shirt you loved so much, and an old movie flashing on the TV. You'd both fall asleep on the couch and, when you wake up in the morning, you're greeted by _him,_ bowls of sugary cereal and Saturday morning cartoons. The perfect date.

Suddenly, you feel something fall onto your cheek. You wipe it away quickly, thinking it was a stray tear that had fallen, but then you feel another fall on your head. And another on your jacket. And another on the sidewalk in front of you. It's not until you hear people around you squealing and you feel yourself starting to get colder that you realize it's beginning to rain. And it's not just a light drizzle, it's the kind of rain that you know is the precursor to a torrential downfall. You laugh and zip your jacket up all the way, rising quickly from the bench and running to your home away from home to wait out the storm. You always did love the rain.

* * *

"Hey, Aria!"

When you enter the store, it feels as if you're home. The owner, a girl you met in an introductory business class you took when you had your first college identity crisis and was looking into other majors, greets you warmly. You two had become fast friends, and when she confided in you that she had just come into money and was finally going to achieve her dream of owning her own bookstore, you promised her you would be her first customer. You were her first customer, and from that day on, you were also her best customer.

"Hey, Sarah!" You laugh as she comes over and stretches her arms out, ready to give you a hug, and stop her before she does. "I was running in Central Park and I got caught in the rain. I know my jacket is black, so it hides it well, but I'm soaking wet right now, and I don't think you really want to hug me."

You watch as she muses over your theory, and laugh once again as she agrees. "Okay, you're right. How about a cup of coffee instead? I just bought a box of your favorite K-Cups. It's in my apartment. Throw your clothes in the dryer and grab a pair of my sweats, while you're at it," she says, waving you away and turning her attention to a new customer who has just walked in.

You listen to what she says and run up the stairs hidden at the back of the bookstore, heading up to her apartment above. You always thought it was convenient that she lived in the same building as her store, especially on those nights you got too engrossed in a book you were reading and needed somewhere to crash. After making your cup of coffee and changing into a pair of her sweats, you skip back downstairs and head over to the _Best Sellers_ section, pulling out a novel you hadn't seen before.

You curl into your normal seat next to the fireplace, pulling a blanket over your lap and cracking open the book, the smell of new paper and black ink hitting your nose. Your eyes drift over the first page, and you're immediately hooked.

_He met her in Winter, and almost immediately took her life by storm. He blew in like a blizzard, covering her, captivating her, with his flurries of beautiful white lies.  
__In the Spring, she was a drizzle, a light sprinkling of rain threatening to wash away all traces of his lies, threatening to expose the truth. He knew he probably shouldn't have gotten too close, he probably should have kept his distance, but there was always that dazzling rainbow that came after the rain. And he was damn near ready to shout everything from the mountains if it meant he would be able to experience even five minutes of her rainbow.  
__She was a summertime blaze. When she found out what he was hiding, she was unstoppable, encapsulating him in a heat wave. She made him sweat, and not in a good way. She set him on fire, ready to destroy him. It was then, and only then, that he decided maybe escaping was a good idea.  
__When Autumn finally rolled around, he returned, ready to make amends. But, like a cool breeze, she was gone; she came and went, disappearing into thin air. The only trace of her, the only way he knew she had really been there, was in the rustling of the leaves changing colors in the trees, ready to fall._

"Amazing, isn't it?" Sarah says, plopping down onto the ottoman in front of you.

You nod your head. "It's like poetry," you answer breathlessly. Even though you've only read the first page, you already feel a connection. A pull, telling you you need to read the rest.

"You know, the author is having a signing party here tonight. It's his last stop on his book tour. Why don't you come by? I could introduce you," she says enticingly. "Look, it stopped raining. Go home, get dressed, and come back around seven?"

Although all you want to do is go home and devour the rest of the book, something's telling you that you should listen to her.

"Okay, Miss Bossy," you say, standing up and clutching the book to you. "But I'm taking this with me!"

Sarah laughs as you walk away. "Okay, but I'm adding it to your tab!"

The smell of rain hits you as soon as you step outside, and you take a deep breath. You remember _him_, and how much he loved the smell of rain. You look at the book once more and can't help but think that the words you read, the words of the author Sarah promised she'd introduce you to tonight, sounded so much like _him_. You suddenly long to see _him_, to talk to _him_. Much more than you ever did before. Sighing, you look up at the now cloudless sky and think that hopefully, one day, your paths will cross again_._


	3. Us

**A/N: It's been a challenge writing this story, but it was definitely good practice. I'm slowly starting to find my bearings again, so maybe you'll see more stories from me soon.  
I enjoyed this so much because it's different than what I'm used to, and I hope you all enjoyed it as well. Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate you all so much. So, please enjoy and, if you'd like, please review! I appreciate and welcome any comments you can give. (:  
- J**

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the words.

* * *

You stand in front of your full length mirror turning every which way, attempting to determine if _this_ outfit, approximately the seventh outfit you've tried on, is the right one. You stand still, appraising your reflection- your chestnut hair, freshly washed with your favorite vanilla shampoo, lies straight and sleek in a lob (short for "long bob", you learned), and you silently praise yourself for getting such an easy haircut, because it means it's one less thing you have to worry about. Your hazel eyes are rimmed subtly with smudged black eyeliner, framed by long mascara coated lashes. Since you knew you'd be walking to the bookstore and it was a bit chilly, you lightly dusted on a bright pink blush, afraid that by the time you walked in, the natural rosiness of your cheeks would come out, and you would end up looking like you had clown cheeks- or had been slapped. You lean in towards the mirror and apply a bit of baby pink gloss and smack your lips, taking a step back and looking at the clock.

_6:47_. "_Well_," you think to yourself, "_this is going to have to do._" You take a deep breath, pull on your black, thigh-length trench coat and black knee-high riding boots, grab your purse and walk out of your apartment, shutting and locking the door behind you. You make your way out of the building and as the cool air hits you, you take a deep breath. "_It's now or never_."

You arrive at Sarah's bookstore at exactly 7:24, music and chatter streaming out the door. From the window, you can see the top of the author's head as he's sitting at the table, his dark curly hair reminiscent of a certain other person you are determined not to think of. You feel your heartbeat quicken in response. The line for autographs is slowly dwindling down, and before you open the door, your pull down the hem of your dress nervously, trying to pull yourself together. _"Relax, it's not _him_,_" you tell yourself.

As soon as you step inside, Sarah greets you with a wave from the back of the store, gesturing wildly towards the author. "I'll introduce you later!" she mouths, and you laugh and nod. You pull out the copy of the book you took from the bookstore earlier and make your way to the line, waiting patiently.

"Who can I make this out to?" you hear a familiar voice ask. No, it can't be. Apprehensively, you peek around the two other people in front of you, and your breath catches. It's _him_.

* * *

Your hand is starting to cramp, your butt hurts from sitting for so long, you probably have a countless number of paper cuts along your fingers, your cheeks hurt from all your forced smiling for pictures, and you're tired of writing the same exact message in every book. You just want this to be over so that you can finally go home and get some rest. After traveling all around for the last six months, visiting random bookstores all around the United States, you're just dying for something normal. You're dying to be home. After all, your house isn't more than twenty minutes away from here, and you can almost hear your bed calling to you. But no, you're stuck here for another two hours.

You weren't complaining, you're more than grateful for the opportunities that have come your way these last few years. You spent the better part of two years writing and pouring your heart into this novel, on top of also taking over the position of chair of the English Department at the prep school you taught at. When you had finally pried your fingers off of your keyboard and forced yourself to stop editing, you shopped your manuscript around for no more than a week before you had major publishers clamoring for the rights to your novel. In two weeks you had closed a deal. And now here you were, a year later, just finishing up your six month book tour for a novel that had shot right up the charts of the _New York Times' Best Sellers_ list. You couldn't be happier.

Actually, that was a lie. You could be happier. If you had _her_. You still kept _her_ note in your wallet and read it from time to time, albeit less often than before. In some masochistic way, it comforted you knowing that you still at least kept a piece of _her _with you. Hell, you even dedicated this book to _her_.

You remember when your editor asked for your dedication, she was the first person to come to your mind. She was, after all, your inspiration for the novel. So, you metaphorically ripped off the band-aid and exposed yourself in that dedication. It still hurt reading it, so you purposefully skip over it every single time when you do these signings.

"Who can I make this out to?" you ask, not even bothering to look up as a pair of small hands gives you her book. You immediately turn to the blank page after the dedication and begin scrawling the same message you've signed in every single book, leaving a space for you to write in the person's name once they tell you.

_Dear _,  
__Thank you so much for your support with this novel, it truly means the world to me.  
__I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.  
__Sincerely,  
__Ezra Fitz_

You hear the person clear their throat. "Make it out to Aria, please," they say, "Aria Montgomery." You whip your head up towards the voice, and your hand freezes in the middle of your signature. You can't believe your eyes. It's _her_.

* * *

Your heart won't stop pounding. You know that there's only a few feet (and a few people) separating you from _him_, and you don't know whether you can handle it. A part of you considers bolting, no one besides Sarah would ever have to know you were there, but that idea immediately rushes out of your brain as you see him smile. You watch as the girl at the table quickly rushes around and places her arm around _him_, smiling widely for a picture. You duck behind the person in front of you, afraid he might see you, and you see _him _smile.

You always loved his smile, that smile that was so wide, it would crinkle his eyes. That smile of his always made your heart stop. You hadn't seen it in years, and today was no exception. This smile he wore now was pained, forced, fake. You could tell from his eyes that he was tired, that he probably needed a good night's rest- and maybe a drink. You automatically felt for him, knowing that when he was tired, he was _exhausted_.

You realized now that the people in front of you were gone, leaving only you, face to face with _him_. He's looking down as you hand him the book. "Who can I make this out to?" he asks as he takes it from you, immediately opening the book to the blank page at the beginning of the book. You notice he quickly skipped over the dedication page, which was weird because whenever you went to book signings, the authors liked to write their personal messages on the dedication page as well.

Not that what he was writing could really be considered "personal". You watch as he scrawls on the page, leaving a space after "_Dear_" and beginning to write a generic thank you message. You clear your throat, willing yourself to speak clearly and not let your voice crack.

"Make it out to Aria, please," you say. "Aria Montgomery."

You watch as he whips his head up to look at you, his piercing blue eyes finally meeting your hazel ones. You smile timidly. "Hi, Ezra."

* * *

Yes, you wanted this book signing to be over before, but now you're _desperate_ for it to end. After finishing signing the last copy of your book, you finally got to stand up and stretch out a little, but it also meant that you would now have to wander around and mingle with people. Sure, that was usually always your favorite part, because you would get to finally talk to your "fans" (you hated having to call them that), getting to know them on a personal basis, and be able to consider them as friends. But now, all you wanted to do was see _her_. Talk to _her_. But she was gone, and you had no idea where she went.

"Oh, there you are, Mr. Fitz!" You flinch a little, unused to hearing yourself be referred to as "Mr. Fitz" again.

"Please, call me Ezra," you say, turning to meet the bookstore's owner. Sarah, you remember her name being. "Only my students call me Mr. Fitz," you say with a forced chuckle, your eyes attempting to discreetly pan across the crowd, looking for her.

Sarah's cheeks redden in embarrassment, and you immediately feel a tinge of remorse. You smile genuinely at her, "Thank you for letting me host my last signing here. It feels good ending this tour so close to home."

You watch as she smiles back, at ease again. "No, thank _you_ for having it here! I really appreciate you stopping here and not one of the many major chain bookstores you could have chosen."

"I've always preferred smaller bookstores over the larger ones," you respond, glancing at her quickly and then returning to scan the crowd.

"I'm sorry," Sarah says, drawing your attention back to her, "Are you looking for someone?"

You sigh in defeat. She's nowhere to be found. "No, just admiring the turnout," you flub, "It always amazes me that even one person shows up to these."

Sarah laughs again, and the silence between you two is uncomfortable. But you can tell she has something to say. "Listen," she says, leaning in, "I have a friend I would love to have you meet. She's a new fan, and I promised I'd introduced you." She backs away and holds her hands up, "I mean, only if you want to, of course."

You look down at your watch and realize it's almost ten. All you really want to do, besides find _her, _is finally go home and sleep, but there's something so hopeful in Sarah's face that you feel bad saying no. So you say yes.

She beams at you and begins leading the way to a little secluded corner in the back of the store. It's a cozy little place, quiet and tucked away from the party. You spot a cozy looking chaise lounge propped against the wall, next to a lightly blazing fireplace, with a small girl wrapped in a blanket lounging on it and reading a book. Your book, you realize.

"Aria!" Sarah says enthusiastically, and you suddenly feel nervous as you also realize it's _her_. No wonder you couldn't find _her_, she was hiding in the back of the store. You feel horrible, thinking you've interrupted her little sanctuary, but that thought is immediately dashed as you see her grin, her smile reaching all the way to the corners of her eyes, taking your breath away.

You watch as she stands up and smooths out the imaginary wrinkles in her black lace dress. "Aria, I'd like you to meet Ezra, our guest of honor," Sarah says, gesturing to you. "Ezra, this is Aria. One of my best friends from college." All you can do is stare at _her_. And she stares back.

Sarah probably realizes something is up, because she grins and back away quickly, mumbling something about needing to tend to the guests. But you've forgotten about it all, about the party, the guests, the novel. All you can focus on is _her_, and the fact that she's finally in front of you.

You take a step forward at the same time she does. Instinctively, you left hand reaches back and rubs the back of your neck, unsure of how to proceed, how to greet each other. You eyes drift over to the book she's left on the chaise and you see she's read the dedication. You turn back to her, and there's a tear in her eye.

"I forgive you," she whispers. "Thank you." And in a split second, she's in your arms. She's back.

* * *

_To the One That Got Away,  
__I know I hurt you, and I will always regret that.  
__I will always regret letting you go.  
__Wherever you are, I hope you're happy. All I want is for you to always be happy.  
__This book is for you. Everything I do is for you.  
__One day, I hope this book finds you. One day, I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for all my mistakes.  
__I love you. I will always love you.  
__Sincerely,  
__Ezra_

You see _him_ pull _her_ into his arms, holding onto each other as if their lives depended on it. And they probably did. You watch as he picks up _her_ coat and delicately slips it on _her_, smiling as she hitches her purse onto her shoulder before placing her hand in his. You watch _her_ kiss _him_ on the cheek. You watch as _her _and _him_ walk out of the bookstore hand in hand, talking animatedly about anything and everything, filling in each other about their lives.

And, if you look closely, you can see the exact moment when they cease to be a _him_ and a _her_ and instead become an _us_.

_Fin._


End file.
